Chapter 15
AMY
The air tastes different this morning.
Less like ash, more like… breath. Thin and dry and unforgiving, yeah, but not suffocating.
Not anymore. There's a shift between us now—something tectonic, seismic, pulled from the earth under that cracked old shrine and pressed between our ribs where no one can see. We don’t talk about it. Not with words.
We don’t need to.
We move together, through a stretch of land that looks like someone tried to erase the planet and gave up halfway.
A flat expanse of bleached stone, twisted rebar skeletons, and blistered earth.
Sun beats down in punishing fists, and the wind has teeth again.
But there’s rhythm now. A beat we share.
Darun adjusts his stride so it lines with mine.
Doesn’t say a word about it, just slows a fraction every time I lag a step.
I check his flank every few minutes. Watch the weak point in his left pauldron where the seal’s still scarred from that canyon blast. I do it without thinking.
Like breathing. Like he’s mine to worry about now.
He catches me once. Just flicks those golden eyes in my direction.
I shrug. “You’re not invincible.”
“Getting tired of proving it,” he mutters.
A dry chuckle slips out of me. “Maybe stop throwing yourself in front of things with guns.”
“Maybe you stop running toward explosions.”
“Told you. I’ve got a flare for dramatics.”
“Yeah,” he grumbles. “I’ve noticed.”
The silence that follows hums low in my chest. It’s not awkward. It’s tuned. Everything is. Every movement. Every breath. I can feel his awareness like a tether between us. We’re not just moving in the same direction anymore.
We’re moving together.
We crest a ridge around midday, sun baking the metal under our boots, and that’s when we spot them.
Patrol.
Four Ataxian soldiers, black-glass armor, lean and deadly. Not local militia—these are proper recon. Eyes like razors, scanners hot. They’re picking over a derelict hauler halfway sunk into the sand.
We hit the deck in a flash, low behind a collapsed solar rig. Dust clouds our vision, dry and stinging. My heart pounds like war drums in my throat.
“Too close,” Darun says, teeth bared.
“We’re not fighting them.”
“They’ll smell blood on me.”
“Then don’t let them get close enough to sniff.”
He shoots me a look. I shoot it right back.
I dig into my pack. Pull out a shredded old canvas cloak, dust-stained and ragged. It still reeks of iron and old oil. I shove it at him. “Put this on. Hunch your shoulders. Make yourself look half-dead.”
“I am half-dead.”
“Then sell it.”
He mutters something in his native tongue that sounds like a curse and a prayer wrapped in barbed wire. But he throws the cloak over his armor, tugging it forward so it hangs like a scavenger’s rag. His helmet’s still off, his scales dulled with soot and grime.
I smear a streak of ash across my cheek, muss my braid, and stuff my recorder deeper into my vest. I step into the open first, keeping my movements jerky, off-kilter.
Darun follows two steps behind, shoulders hunched.
We’re halfway to the wreck when one of the patrol turns.
“Identify,” the soldier snaps, rifle half-raised.
“Just passing through,” I say, layering exhaustion over my words like old skin. “Looking for scraps. Fuel cells, maybe. Metal.”
The Ataxian’s visor doesn’t move. “You’re far off trade routes.”
“We’re hungry.”
“Then starve closer to the slums.”
I shoot a look over my shoulder at Darun. He lowers his head like a kicked animal. It’s unnerving, seeing him pretend to be broken. It works too well.
“We saw the wreck from the ridge,” I say. “Didn’t know it was claimed. We’ll move on.”
The patrol leader steps forward. His armor hums with active sensors. I feel them crawl over my skin like ants.
“You—” he nods toward Darun, “—lift your head.”
Darun doesn’t move.
The soldier steps closer. “I said lift—”
“I said he doesn’t speak,” I cut in. “Had his tongue torn out for stealing a comm dish last winter. Don’t worry—he’s too dumb to lie.”
A beat of silence.
“You’re not from around here.”
“No one is anymore.”
The soldier grunts. Waves us off. “You’ve got five minutes. Then we fire a warning shot.”
I nod like I’m grateful. We move past, hearts in our throats.
We don’t stop at the hauler.
We don’t say a word.
Not until we’re out of sight, back behind a jagged ridge, lungs burning.
Then Darun grabs my arm, spins me, and kisses me.
No slow buildup. Just heat and tension and teeth and thank fuck we’re alive. It crashes through me like shrapnel—hot, electric, needy.
I clutch his jacket, pull him closer, until we hit the side of a half-sunken structure, metal groaning under us. His hands are everywhere—rough, warm, anchoring. Mine find the edge of his jaw, the curve of his neck, the plates along his collarbone that vibrate when he breathes like this.
He groans low in his throat, a sound I feel more than hear.
“I thought I lost you,” he growls against my mouth. His golden eyes burn like twin suns. “You’re mine, Amy. You’ve always been mine.”
“I didn’t want to die without feeling you again,” I whisper, and then we’re moving, tearing at each other’s gear like it’s in the way of salvation.
My jacket hits the dirt. His armor clatters beside it. His red scales gleam in the rust-colored sunlight, the patterns down his chest glinting like metal. My fingers trace them, and he shudders.
“I want to taste you,” he says, voice rough, almost reverent. “Every inch.”
He lifts me like I weigh nothing, presses me against the cool metal of the wall. My thighs wrap around his waist. His mouth finds my neck, trailing down with slow, dragging kisses that make me squirm.
“You’re so warm,” he murmurs, tongue flicking against my pulse. “So soft.”
“And you’re—fuck, Darun—”
His clawed fingers find the waist of my pants, tugging them down, sliding along my thighs with exquisite slowness. I arch into him, impatient, and he chuckles, low and smug.
“Needy little human,” he rumbles.
I reach between us, fingers grazing the thick bulge in his pants. “You’re not exactly subtle yourself.”
He growls and yanks his waistband down. His cock is huge, ridged, red like the rest of him, already leaking at the tip. My pussy clenches at the sight of it.
“Want you inside me,” I gasp.
“You’ll get it,” he promises. “But I’m going to make you beg first.”
He sinks to his knees, spreading my legs with those broad, callused hands. Then he buries his face between my thighs, tongue lashing against my clit in slow, devastating circles. I cry out, one hand flying to his head, gripping the bony frills there like a lifeline.
He moans into my pussy, the sound sending vibrations through me. His tongue is long, agile, curling into me, tasting me, licking me like it’s the only thing keeping him alive.
“Oh fuck—Darun—please—”
“That’s it,” he growls, standing abruptly. “That’s the sound I wanted.”
Before I can respond, he thrusts into me, burying himself to the hilt. I scream. Not from pain—from stretch, from fullness, from the blinding pleasure of finally being whole again.
“Mine,” he snarls, pounding into me with brutal, perfect rhythm. “This pussy’s mine.”
“Yes,” I sob. “All yours—”
My back scrapes against the wall, his claws digging into my hips, holding me in place as he fucks me harder, deeper. Every thrust hits something perfect, sparks exploding behind my eyes.
“I love you,” he says, voice breaking. “Always have.”
“I love you too,” I choke out.
My orgasm slams into me like a detonation. I scream, my body locking around his cock as pleasure tears through me. He roars and follows, hips jerking, cock pulsing deep inside me.
We collapse together, tangled, shaking.
Later, we sit back-to-back on a sun-warmed slab of wreckage, watching the horizon melt into rust and gold. The wind’s died down, and the air smells like iron and something faintly sweet—like scorched flowers.
I pull my knees to my chest. “We shouldn’t.”
His voice comes after a pause, low and steady. “We did.”
I nod. Because we don’t regret it. Not even a little.